Upleveling the Demon

“Falling fast from high air down to rocky ground — man, it hurt like hell.”

Was it a demon who shred
Sleep’s magic carpet out from under
Me — or was the too-tight weave of
Story threading my weary fabrication
Simply ready to dis*integrate?

Falling fast from high air down
To rocky ground — man, it hurt
Like hell. Knuckles aged white
Gripping decades, cracked apart.
Earth bent my spine, shoved me
Into a curve of love once rigidly
Ignored. Rage, that furnace I
Never let burn hot enough
To alchemize futility, now sets ablaze
Your pulse light beacon in my sight.

Tugging fibers wide and loose, the gap
Allows this worn-out weave to fray right
Open. All it took to slay my demon
Was another soul-torn lover like me,
Falling hard to take its place.

The speaker in the poem has been locked down since early childhood, resisting discovery of what he’s always been innately wired to want. Words spoken — a spell cast by a drunken father on a brutal night had trained him to believe his very core belonged imprisoned in shadow.

When circumstances weakened fibers of the spell, he resisted more intensely — thought he could rid himself of the demon completely by falling in love — with the wrong person. It took a while to see the “pulse light beacon” of a better option standing by. Pushed to the breaking point, he could finally let what he feared most about himself wake up and…

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